My heartbeat doesn’t slow down. “I . . .” My words get lost in my throat, “I have no idea.” I breathe out.
“We need to clean it up as soon as possible,” Libby declares, closing the door and moving to the kitchen to get supplies. “If it dries it can ruin the paint.”
It seems like roles have reversed as I stumble, following Libby into the kitchen. Dish soap, sponges, and a bucket are pulled out from under the sink.
“C’mon, Laur,” Libby instructs. “We need to spray it down with the hose, then scrub with soapy water.”
Without a word, I follow her outside and wait for her to get the hose. After she’s sprayed down our front door and porch, we scrub at the leftover eggs.
“How do you know how to do this?” I ask. Libby went from hungover into action mode in a matter of seconds. She knew exactly what to do.
Libby’s eyes fill with tears, but she ignores me and keeps scrubbing. “At least we got to it right away. It won’t cause any damage.”
“Libby . . .” I slowly start. She clearly doesn’t want to talk about it, but I’m not sure how to comfort her without knowing what’s wrong.
Libby wipes a tear from her cheek. “This should be good enough. Let’s go inside.”
As soon as we get into the house, Libby rushes around the kitchen putting away our supplies and throwing away the sponges. Unsure what to do, I sit down at the table and wait until she’s done.
Libby releases a big sigh as she pours herself fresh coffee and sits down at the table across from me.
“There were a few girls in high school that hated me.” She peers into her coffee as if she sees the memory in the liquid. “They hated me because one of them had dated the boy I was dating.”
“They egged my car once.” Her voice is quiet, and tears roll down her face. “I didn’t clean it fast enough, and it took off some of the paint.”
“I couldn’t get it touched up for over a month.” With shaky hands, she lifts her coffee to her lips but instead of taking a sip, she talks into the cup, her voice slightly muffled. “Every time I drove it, I was humiliated. Everyone knew what happened.”
She takes a sip of coffee, while wiping her tears with the other hand.
“But Drew—” she sniffs, “—the boy I was dating, picked me up from across town as soon as I broke down and told him how embarrassed I was.” A small smile finds her face. “He was a good guy.”
“Libby, I’m so sorry that happened to you.” I place my hand on hers.
Wiping her nose on the back of her hand, she lets out a laugh. “But I don’t think it’s because of a guy now.”
“What about Blaine?” My mind races with possibilities of who could have done this and why.
Libby shakes her head in disagreement, “No, it can’t be because of him. We’ve barely talked, which is my own fault,” she mutters the last part of her confession under her breath.
“What about the guy this morning?” I’m grasping at straws, but I don’t know anyone that would do this to us.
Libby’s mouth drops open. “You know about Brad?” She sips her coffee again, mumbling, “but I was so quiet last night.”
“I heard him come downstairs this morning and saw him leave,” I reply with a laugh.
“Can’t be anything to do with him,” Libby assures me. “I just met him last night, and he’s only in town visiting family.”
Libby gasps. “Could it be one of the PR girls that didn’t get accepted?”
"No." I give her a quick shake of my head. “I haven’t sent out the rejections yet,”
Libby’s eyes widen. “Why not?”
“I just got the final acceptance last night,” I defend myself. “I was waiting to make sure everything was squared away.”
Silence falls between us as we both rack our brains trying to think of who would egg our house.
“Since the season hasn’t started, it can’t be any of Lucas’ groupies,” Libby teases.
